


26 Frights of Freddy: The Tangled Soul

by FreddleFrooby



Series: 26 Frights of Freddy [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria Simulator, Suicide, Swearing, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreddleFrooby/pseuds/FreddleFrooby
Summary: A rugged urban explorer. A girl who can see the future. Men who bear the weight of a broken past. All their paths cross with the discovery of a troubled high-schooler's suicide, his death bringing to light even more of Freddy Fazbear's skeletons in the closet. It isn't before long that a familiar yet new monster begins to make his way throughout the country, wreaking much havoc in the process. Soon, the threads of fate are entangled as the veil of normality is lifted, revealing a once-secret world extending far beyond the natural. The web of lies, murder, and conspiracy comes crashing down as everyone finally stands up to their darkest secrets, and it is up to their unlikely alliance to solve the puzzle and rid these monsters once and for all...26 Frights of Freddy, The Tangled Soul, is a series of 42 short stories written by 27 different authors from the r/nosleep and r/fivenightsatfreddys subreddits, whose main path is told in alphabetical order by title, but, combined with the twisted side routes and detours included in the bonus stories, interweave to make a complete picture spanning several decades and many lifetimes, in what is currently the largest ongoing collaborative horror project in all of reddit.
Series: 26 Frights of Freddy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1603456
Kudos: 1





	1. A is for Abandoned by /u/SkyhawkIllusions

**Author's Note:**

> This first story was written by /u/Skyhawk_Illusions, the head writer for this general series of fanfics.

There’s really no other way to start this than by saying that I have no idea what the hell I saw down there, and frankly I don’t want to know. God, it’s so difficult to even begin writing about this, but I have to tell someone, alright? Just know that there are some truly sick people out there; who knows? Maybe it’s that friendly old neighbor who walks his dog every morning with a smile and a wave, or that quiet student that always sits in the back drawing in his journal… my point is that it could be anyone. It could be someone you thought you knew before it was far too late.

Well, guess I need to start at the beginning…

I’m going to preface by saying that I am… well… was I guess now… into urbex, or urban exploration. It was something that I picked up from my time in college. You see, my school, who I typically root against during football season despite my attendance (Go Blue!), only ever has two seasons: winter, and construction.

As such, the place is constantly undergoing change, and even without all that stuff happening, there’s a lot more to the campus than meets the eye. I’ve been to numerous university landmarks many times, before and after reconstruction, visited a long-closed former lecture hall that was originally built back in the ‘20s as a women’s student union complete with swimming pool, traversed the underground passages connecting the buildings at some major complexes such as the business and medical districts, and even used the underground steam tunnels as shortcuts in between classes.

Of course, the excitement of exploring places where nobody either knows about or even is supposed to be grew quite addictive, and I began to perform urban exploration in earnest once I graduated, attempting to learn more about the history and hidden beauty of the city. I even traveled around for a bit and visited some of the more… shall we say… infamous locales.

While I’m sure you’d love to hear about my adventures exploring creepy abandoned Kirkbride asylums, my befriending a drifter who was pushing around a shopping cart full of soda cans in Cleveland, or my road trip to Centralia back in ’09, that’s not what I came here to write about.

No, it’s about my most recent visit; the one that made me decide to take a break from urbex for a while.

The one that has me constantly in fear for my life.

With tensions between the US and North Korea at an all-time high since the last presidential elections, I recently became intrigued with the exploration of abandoned fallout shelters throughout the country, untouched since the Cold War. I had visited the former bunker at the Masonic Temple in downtown Salt Lake City, and had been gradually making my way south to get a glimpse at the past. I admit that it wasn’t as atmospheric as what I’m used to… most of them were just basements, really.

The real target was those fallout shelters that were often on private residences, those backyard hidden locations the landowners were often too lazy to deal with. That’s the kind of thing that makes the news, like the ones back in California and Wisconsin four years back. Those things are a blast from the past, a time capsule of some bygone pre-apocalyptic era where many American families believed that they would be bombed to oblivion any day now, you know, like in the “Terminator” series. It’s a grab bag, really; I’ve seen places that would make an antique store owner wet, and I’ve also seen places already looted by the less… wholesome folk. I remember getting chased out of one by this knife-wielding purple hobo that had been using the place to spend the night.

But I’m digressing I suppose. You wanted to know what happened, so… yeah.

I had heard rumors of a big one in the woods near Brushton, a podunk community near Cedar City, Utah. I wasn’t sure about this at first; if rumors had already been flying around, then certainly it would have been picked clean by now? But then I heard of some of the more interesting murmurs online. There were a lot of conflicting claims about the place, but the overall consensus was that this place was fucking haunted. Now I don’t believe in ghosts, but well, if that didn’t pique my interest…

So here I was, standing above a pair of rusty iron doors leading down to god knows where in the middle of the woods. Normally that would get me pretty excited, since who knows what kind of treasure might be buried down there? Historical, I mean. But for some reason I was feeling uneasy. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard the chirping and buzzing you’d normally find in forests for a while. Well, I wasn’t going to let that discourage me, it wouldn’t be the first time. Taking the crowbar I carried with me in my pack, I carefully pried open the door to reveal a steel ladder fixed to the wall. I turned on my headlamp and began my descent.

As I climbed down the ladder, I could not help but notice the musty, metallic odor permeating the area. I gazed around, illuminating the space with my headlamp; it took me a while to muster up the courage to explore, but when I did, I saw things that I wasn’t really paying that much attention to at the moment, but knowing what I know now, they should have been my first signs to run.

The first was that it looked as if there was not enough dust and forest debris caked over what little there was, despite it being apparently unused for quite some time. Of course, the way the entrance was sealed might have played a part, but the furnishings looked too… new. Like within-the-last-month new. Well, what do I know about furniture of the 1960s?

Another was the notable absence of supplies and accouterments such as rancid food rations or clunky, outdated lighting and electronics; what was there was either too heavily-decayed or didn’t work at all, forcing me to rely on my headlamp to orient myself.

But what disturbed me the most for some reason, was the bathroom. There was no dust on the mirror and the faucets kept dripping every so often. You’d think they would have shut the water off a LONG time ago.

Furthermore, in one of the bunk bed rooms, I noticed furniture piled up quite haphazardly throughout, blocking the space. Now that I think of it, someone, or something took the time to clear out one of the rooms free of furniture, and that room was just behind the last unopened door.

Throughout it all, I had this very tense gut feeling that I wasn’t quite aware of at first. It felt like I was being watched; not only that, but whoever or whatever was watching me clearly did not appreciate my presence. The hairs on the back of my neck were constantly on end as if frozen by a thousand glaring shadows, and I was certain that I sometimes heard a soft, low giggle echoing throughout the compound.

I had already pondered these things when I heard soft footsteps from the other side of the door I was focused on, causing me to freeze instantly. Was someone in here with me??? I listened carefully as the soft pat pat noise continued, and I pulled out my Morakniv I brought with me in case things went south. “Hello?” I called out. The footsteps immediately stopped, and the smell kept getting stronger, now with a distinct coppery tone to it that I didn’t want to think about. Gingerly, I reached for the doorknob leading to the last chamber, ready to either fight or fly if need be.

I should have just left. That would have kept me safe.

A horrid, sickening metallic stench struck me like a wall, forcing me back as I dry heaved and tried my hardest not to vomit. My eyes began to water as I took in the impossible sight before me. While the other rooms had that feeling of oppressive Cold War austerity I was just beginning to get used to, this last chamber was like a slaughterhouse. Also, whatever presence had been there before was now weighing me down, like an immense hatred tinged with perverse joy. The room felt burning hot and icy cold at the same time and my mind was screaming at me to run and call 911, but at the same time I felt like I was being pinned down by some otherworldly force, paralyzed in fear. Then somehow, just as I felt like I was at my limit, it stopped abruptly and the room fell silent once again.

It felt like hours before I mustered up the courage to look inside. I was absolutely certain there would be a dead body in there, and I didn’t want to get into that kind of predicament. What I found was far worse than that. Forget the slaughterhouse, this was straight out of a Satanic horror movie. There was no other person inside, alive or dead, but a mutilated fox lay on the ground, its eyes and tongue bulging out as it lay on the concrete with its throat slit and its legs seemingly torn off. Its innards lay exposed, coming out of a jagged gash covered in flies; it looked as if someone had cut the poor thing open and removed some of the organs, which lay in a bowl on a nearby table next to some papers about a word I didn't recognize: "haruspicina", whatever that meant (I would later come to learn that this basically involved divination by the entrails of a sacrificed animal). Whoever resided here was clearly insane, but before I began to wonder who could have possibly done this and if he was still around, I found a leatherbound journal on the chair.

What I read within was horrifying.

Apparently the original author had been trying to perform experiments combining technology and the occult, with the aim of creating some kind of alternate body, one impervious to the effects of aging and physical pain. Strangely, though, it appeared that this journal had not been created by whoever was inhabiting this dungeon; there were far too many inconsistencies in handwriting style. Upon realizing this, I looked back and saw that the journal had been heavily annotated by multiple people, the most recent owner's notes matching the dark blue handwriting upon the other papers and contrasting with the faded black that comprised the majority of the corpus. The last few pages seemed to shed some light upon the situation.

That's when I began noticing some more bizarre details that had escaped my attention previously.

I found a framed selfie showing a high-school couple laying facedown upon a messy table. The two figures appeared to be holding hands and enjoying themselves, or at least one of them was. The girl was a perky goth chick with all-black accessories, complete with a tiny black-lipped smile and dark pigtails. She must be pretty cute. The boy, however, was a lanky pimpled youth carrying a maroon Jansport and decked in second-hand clothes that didn’t quite fit his size. On his neck was a silver chain with a pentagram charm, inverted of course.

Also, among the ritual gear and other esoteric things were the remains of animatronic toys and other electronic gadgets, as well as more apparently meaningless crafts such as a crate of plush toys packed full of rice and wrapped up in red thread. Furthermore, several heavily-annotated blueprints were laid out on a nearby table, all coming from a company called “Fazbear Entertainment”.

It would appear that after finding these notes, the last owner of the corpus did some further research. He claimed to have discovered the work of a certain William Afton on the Deep Web, and was trying to replicate it using more conventional approaches; a notable set of experiments was written with Japanese text interspersed throughout which I could not understand. The word “remnant” had been consistently highlighted, both in this chronicle and on the blueprints.

The last filled page of the journal depicted a massive ritual configuration, with a Freddy Fazbear animatronic sitting in the middle of a pentagram surrounded by four other symbols, which matched the dark stains covering the walls.

I looked closely at the animatronic Freddy; this had to be the ugliest hunk of scrap parts I’d ever seen, as if whoever put him there managed to salvage him from a junkyard and reconstructed him to a travesty of my childhood. He was sitting in the middle of a massive pentagram covering the concrete floor, which appeared to be marked in blood quite recently. Red yarn had been tangled all over his body, in a larger imitation of those rice-packed plush toys. He was on the ground with his hands out to his sides in a slouching position, like an awkwardly-propped corpse, and upon closer inspection, I could see the barely decipherable symbols which nearly blended in with the brown surface. Also, although this may have been some kind of momentary panic-fueled hallucination, I could have sworn I heard heavy breathing nearby. I felt compelled to examine the head more closely, afraid that there might be a person inside, but to my relief, there was only a mechanical endoskeleton beneath the shell. As I placed the head back, it drooped forward, its jaw opening like a gaping skeleton’s.

I had enough of this place. I still don't know what compelled me to grab the journal as I made my way out of this bedlam. Just as I reached the door, however, I heard another distorted giggle behind me and looked back.

I need to stress something to you: whilst you have no reason to trust me, I swear on my father’s grave that this next thing happened exactly as I portray it. Freddy had already stood up. He was FUCKING STANDING UPRIGHT and staring at me with its hollow eyes. To add to that, another low chortle echoed throughout the room, leaving no doubt as to its source.

The next thing I remember, I was in the car doing 70 in a residential area hauling ass out of there; no matter how much I try to remember, everything about my escape is still a blur, as if I was subconsciously blocking out something I shouldn’t have seen. I went straight to the police, and told them I had come across some maniac wearing a bear costume in some underground bunker in the woods… come on, it’s not like I could tell them the truth, right?

Well once the cops got involved, that opened a whole new can of worms. They could not find the costumed maniac, but not for lack of trying; apparently, by the time they arrived, someone had already looted the place clean. All they found were the bloodstains and gore among the ruined detritus and the ransacked furniture. But there was also something else. You see, only a few yards away from this abattoir, they found a body. I was now the prime suspect for the kidnapping and murder of Tanner Albright, a student at the Theodore Roosevelt High School in Brushton who had gone missing a week prior.

The bloodied corpse was barely recognizable as human, but one look at that pimply face and everything made sense.

Lord, did they grill me about it, repeatedly asking me if I knew him and where was I during the last few weeks. I insisted over and over again that I could not have been involved, detailing exactly how I came across the bunker and the events surrounding it. I swore up and down that I wasn’t alone down there and that whoever was with me had to have killed Tanner; I simply would not believe that they couldn’t find anything or anyone matching that description inside or nearby, not when they said it with a tone that made me feel that they weren’t telling me everything. They even had the audacity to suggest that maybe I had been hallucinating down there and imagined the bear costume, followed by spurious accusations of me doing drugs. It was a brutal interrogation, and they kept trying to find nonexistent holes in my testimony; they even dragged in Police Chief Burke from Hurricane to question me, but I honestly couldn’t figure out what good that would do, except maybe for some kind of good cop/bad cop routine? Soon, it became pretty clear that I had nothing to do with the murder, so they had to let me go.

Well… at first, I guess.

A few days later I spotted Chief Burke while waiting in line at Grind Coffee House. He must have recognized me too, because before I knew it, he was standing right behind me, and when I was about to pay, he stepped in and offered to cover my tab. Why was he so pushy even now? I’d already told him all he needed to know back at the station, right? We sat down together and shot the shit for a while, talking about sports, family, school, all that jazz. At one point, though, he looked at me with a curious expression and spoke up.

“Now Russ, am I right? You’re a pretty smart kid with a bright future. Not that many people get a master’s degree that young, you know.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I like you, kid. I really do; but what I don’t like is to be lied to.”

I froze. Of course he must have known.

“You think I can’t figure out when you’re holding back the truth? You saw something down there, didn’t you? Something really really messed up. And I don’t want to hear about no guy in a bear suit just running around the woods, we both know that’s a load of shit.”

Of course.

Chief Burke leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. “So tell me, son. What did you see in that bunker?” I sat there, biting my lip in thought. “You wouldn’t believe me. You’d think I’m crazy.” Chief Burke gave a small sigh. “Russ, I’ve been in the force for more than 26 years now. I’ve seen a lot throughout my career, there isn’t really that much that surprises me anymore.”

Touché. I guess, nothing to lose, right?

I told him the whole story starting from the rumors I heard floating about the place and going into considerable detail about the charnel house that was the bomb shelter, talking about how the place felt so oppressively wrong and how the mascot seemed… alive. I could have sworn I saw his eyes widen for a bit when I got to this part. I even showed him the book I found inside that detailed the writer’s rituals and trials, which he read for a long time before placing it on the table with a frown. The whole time he didn’t say a word, only listening thoughtfully as I recalled that harrowing experience. When I was done, it was his turn to remain silent in rumination, slowly nodding his head as he processed what he heard.

“…so they figured it out after all…” he muttered, or so it sounded like. Then he turned to me.

“I think it would be better if I held on to that book for a bit. You really should have said something about it when we questioned you about all this.” I grimaced in shame at his admonition. “I’m… I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Nah, not really, but you want my advice? Put this out of your mind, and take a break from urbexing for a while, too. If what you said was true, then you’re treading in some really nasty waters here. Leave while you still can, just go home, and just try to leave this in the past, alright?” I was a little confused but some instinct told me to heed his advice. Well I guess I could do the first two. I ended my trip early, went back to my ordinary life, and honestly forgot about it for a while.

So why do I write about all this now?

Yesterday I received an email with the subject “REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAW”, and a short anonymous message:

I know who you saw down there. We need to talk.

It came with an attachment: “freddy.7z”, a set of photographs taken throughout various locations throughout the country. I wasn’t sure what to look for at first until the fourth picture, and when I saw it, an electric tingle of panic coursed through my body and I could swear I heard laughter like what came out of the bunker as I fled.

Somewhere in the background of every single photograph was what looked like a man in a dirty stained Freddy costume, wrapped in trailing red yarn that constantly snagged against the undergrowth, with a tattered brick-red rucksack hauled over its shoulder.

On its wrist dangled a silver pentagram.

Even half a country away, I still don’t feel safe from Freddy.


	2. B is for Ballora by /u/M59Gar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by /u/M59Gar. These were already written in 2018, so i can just post them pretty quick.

I'd heard rumors of steam tunnels under campus since my first day at orientation. Older students claimed one could travel between buildings unseen, and that it was the only way to smuggle large quantities of alcohol across the grounds. I was willing to believe that, but I scoffed at the ghost stories that followed. Supposedly, those that had dared the tunnels at night had heard strange noises beyond the cacophony of steam, venting air, and stressed pipes. It was mechanical, they'd said, or maybe animal. No two stories matched.

And of course there were the usual claims that a few students had disappeared down there over the years; claims which I found ridiculous. Real disappearances involve the police and the news, not college campus rumors. Still, when my friend Emma dared me to go down there with her in late October of last year, I was hesitant.

On the one hand, what red-blooded college guy could refuse such a dare? On the other—no, I couldn't voice those fears without sounding lame. Instead, I said, "What if maintenance catches us?"

She silently and carefully lifted the grate from the surrounding concrete. "Then we run." She peered down into the tunnel below. From where I was standing, it looked like it ran right under University Hall. She added, "Come on. This is almost always locked. It looks like the latch rusted through and they haven't noticed yet. We won't get another chance like this."

I scanned the dark and quiet campus grounds, but the light dusting of snow was undisturbed in every direction. Our night class had run late, so we were the only ones out. What other choice did I have? She was beautiful, and she wanted to go into the creepy steam tunnels. I shrugged, took a deep breath, and clambered down into a river of flowing warm air.

The shock of actually entering a disallowed space had me looking in either direction warily; dim orange light made various small jets of steam look like little flames. Condensation dripped in the distance, and my breath entered my lungs humid and fetid.

"Ahem," she called from above politely.

"Oh!" I moved and turned around to help her down.

It had been surprisingly easy to transgress the forbidden, all things considered. We laughed and whispered and stared for a few moments before daring each other to venture further. After two steps, we remembered to return and close the grate behind us; then, we crept past curtains of billowing white moisture, following the warm and pulsing pipes.

The first intersection ran dim orange in three directions; the fourth was lit by a soft green that faded into darkness and back nearly imperceptibly every few seconds. I couldn't see any fixtures for the light—the orange in the other directions came from intermittent bulbs—but I assumed the sickly green was coming from something around the abrupt corner about twenty feet away.

Emma made a face. "Not that way. It smells bad."

"Right." I was more than happy to avoid the foulness coming from that direction. So, instead, we turned left—and immediately came upon a small office.

A grey-haired old man in a maintenance uniform reacted with surprise by jumping up from his chair and hitting a button on the wall, closing a door immediately in front of us. We thought we were caught, but he just stood in front of a small glass window set in the thick metal and peered at us.

Emma and I stared at each other for a minute until we realized he wasn't grabbing a phone. She approached the door and asked loudly, "Are you going to report us?"

The old man gulped, sending a visible lump down his fragile throat. "I'm obligated to tell you that the grant that funded these tunnels and many of the buildings above specifies that nothing down here gets reported."

I stepped closer to the door. "What the hell does that mean?"

He trembled with restrained fear, pointed at his ear, and then pointed upwards. "It's perfectly safe. Feel free to explore." He shook his head and warned us with his eyes.

Emma and I looked at one another with worried concern.

The old man returned to his chair and focused intently on reading his magazine. He ignored our taps on the glass as if he desperately wanted us to go away, so we had no other option but to leave.

I asked the obvious. "That was weird. Do you think we should get outta here?"

"No way," Emma replied, already moving down the tunnel while gliding her hand on one of the warm and pulsing pipes. "He's just messing with us. It's probably more effective at keeping students out of here if he tries to scare us off instead of reporting us. We'll go tell our friends oh how scary it is just like the sophomores told us at orientation."

That made a strange sort of sense, and I did follow her, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the old maintenance man hadn't been acting. He hadn't even had time to assess our identities before he'd leapt up terrified to close his door. Unfortunately, the only thing I could do about that suspicion was look behind us often and stay alert.

A few minutes further on in that endless orange mist, the cadence of the place began getting to me. The vibrations were deep and rhythmic, and air and concrete both seemed to expand and contract with it ever so slightly around me. Something about the motion made me feel nauseous or disgusted, but I wasn't sure why.

It was then that we came to three-way junction. One path led to more of the same, but the other diverged into dark crimson. The red light made the sudden patches of moss growing within look black, and a variety of thinner and more numerous pipes gave off a subtle rushing noise. Emma followed them with wonder, asking aloud, "Do you think these ones run liquids instead of steam?"

I did. By then, I felt like I was breathing in time with the maze's rhythm, and I very much did not like it. "We should probably go back."

"Aww, just when we've found some place interesting?" She didn't wait for my response.

I couldn't very well let her go down that rotting crimson tunnel alone, so I followed, warier than ever.

We turned a few corners, and I tried to remember the way, but I was beginning to lose track. Worse, I realized that I couldn't tell where the red light was coming from. There were no bulbs. Hell, there weren't even wires. After a few more turns, I stopped and touched one of the thinner rushing pipes. It was hot, and gave slightly at the pressure of my fingers. I couldn't be sure, but I had the strangest notion that the pipes were actually the source of the omnipresent dim crimson colorization all around us.

Emma stopped. "Did you hear that?"

I shook my head and looked in either direction, but saw only hanging black mosses and dim moisture haze.

"It was like a servo grinding or something." She frowned. "Or maybe a growl."

There was only one thing to say to that: "Are you fucking serious?"

"Oh come on. It's not like the stories are true. I'm sure the pipes make that noise and people just made up the tales around it."

Up ahead, I saw a dim aperture much like the entrance to the maintenance man's little office. "I dunno, I—"

Just around the corner ahead of us, a definite grinding sound echoed forth.

I didn't wait. I didn't let her rationalize it. I grabbed her hand and dragged her forward toward the office door as a dark-on-red shadow began to move around the corner. We barely avoided seeing the source of the shadow by dodging inside, and I turned around and hit the button on the wall in the same place the maintenance man's had been.

Nothing happened.

One shared terrified glance at each other and then upward gave us a strategy, and we leapt to grab the base of the door and pull it down. Our combined weight grated off rust and slowly drew the barrier closer to the floor. Once only a foot gap was left, we stopped to avoid locking ourselves in, and instead dragged a heavy-set metal desk over and blocked the bottom.

That horrifying grinding growling sound moved past slowly, as if something enormous was taking one belabored step at a time and waiting to listen between each movement. Neither of us dared make a sound, and Emma gripped my hand so hard I thought she might fracture my knuckles. Despite the pain, I kept my mouth shut. Nothing had ever been more terrifying to me than the thought of letting that unknown thing in the tunnel know of our presence.

We bounced forward as the desk shifted and the door clanged from a massive thump.

Emma grabbed her own mouth to keep from making noise, and I grabbed one of the hot crimson pipes lining the back wall to keep from falling. The heat seared my fingers, but I just had to take it until the lumbering entity outside decided it was satisfied and moved on.

Once it was around the corner, she finally let out a breath, and I finally let go of the pipe.

"What the hell was that?" I asked through gritted teeth, holding my hand and looking for anything that I might wrap around it. Everything in the cramped office was mossy, rotten, or dusty, and I nearly gave up—before spotting something.

Emma stared at me as I leaned forward. "We have to get out of here!"

I wasn't exactly polite. "No shit? That's what I've been saying!" Keeping my burnt hand pressed against my torso, I used my other to open the old filing cabinet. "But we have to wait until whatever that was is out of our path. It's blocking the way we came right now. Until then, take a look at this."

She took some of the files from me. "Huh, they're mostly intact. I guess the steam didn't get inside the filing cabinet." Then, she saw what I'd seen. "Holy crap, this is like, official college stuff."

"Look there," I told her. "It's a map of the tunnels."

"And records from the grant that old guy was talking about." She leafed through the next folder. "What's this... 'Animus Society'? What the hell, this isn't Assassin's Creed!" She looked further, thumbing through the papers. "Wait... why are there patient records in here?" She gulped. "No, more than that. Medical records from an orphanage. A bunch of babies, little kids. Looks like these records are from 1965."

A sense began creeping over me that something was seriously wrong here—even more than the fear that some horrible creature was roaming the steam tunnels. If I had to get rational with myself, it had probably just been another maintenance worker out there, perhaps one with tools and a breathing problem. That would have explained the mechanical noises and the breathing. But this? These decayed records were real and physical proof that the founding of our college had something to do with twenty-six orphans whose files all prominently featured the word DECEASED.

I was the first to notice a pattern on the map, but Emma figured out the overall shape.

The steam tunnels contained a maze of random turns to heat and power the campus buildings, yes, but they also held something else: hidden within the design was a massive pentagram miles in diameter. At that point, I was nearing panic attack. "Was this shit founded by Satanists or something?"

"Well, looks like we're going to see for ourselves," Emma whispered unhappily. "The only way out of here without going back toward that growling thing is through the center of the pentagram."

Of course.

Of course that was the only way out.

But there was nothing to be done except pushing down our fear and making a run for it. As silently as possible, we moved the desk, peered under the door, and confirmed our crimson-lit hallway was clear. We slipped under—and then half-ran, half-crept as quickly and as quietly as we could in the direction we'd been heading before the unknown creature had made us hide.

I was dead certain we were going to see a shitload of bones. I knew it. What else could have happened to twenty-six orphans at the center of a pentagram? As we moved, the walls rapidly became heavier with moss, and the pulsing rhythm of the place became a deep throbbing and racing that set my every nerve on edge. The heart of darkness was ahead, and we couldn't turn away.

We almost laughed as we emerged into the massive circular chamber at the center of it all and found it filled with large furnaces.

Emma shook her head and sighed. "Right. Steam tunnels. That means furnaces, not baby sacrifice or whatever."

I was feeling pretty silly myself. The large underground dome held two rows of furnaces whose pipes ran off in every direction. It was the heart of campus, really, from whence all the heating and cooling and plumbing originated. There were no creatures and no bodies, because this was the real world, not a nightmare.

The twenty-five furnace segments were arranged in two rows of thirteen, but one was missing. I gazed down at the broken pipes and filthy square in the floor where it should have been. Then, I scanned the rows of machines. Each one was different; a unique style of furnace. None had brand names anywhere on them.

No.

What?

No. What a strange notion.

That didn't make any sense.

But the count matched.

Except for one.

One that was possibly lumbering around these tunnels, dragging itself with its misshapen and maimed body, never dying, always hungry, always in pain.

Emma began to suspect around the same time I did. We refused to believe. We shook our heads, told each other it was insane, but then—we looked. We had to. How could any person simply leave that place without looking?

I balled up my jacket around my hand and opened one of the furnace hatches.

What I saw within will haunt me for the rest of my life. I can tell you in words, but you can't understand. You can picture it, maybe, but you can't internalize the visceral understanding of what it meant for the abomination inside to exist before you not as nightmare, but in the real and physical world.

There was fire inside. That much was like a normal furnace. The difference here was a near total lack of working mechanical parts. Someone had tried and failed to fuse two things impossible to combine; so, the slack had been taken up by what did still work. A set of oversized tumor-ridden lungs expanded and contracted as we watched, pushing air through the system; a human heart maybe two feet in diameter throbbed with the pulse of the place, dimly glimmering red as it pushed blood through thin outgoing pipes. I'm pretty sure I saw a mutated intestine, too, glowing green, but I can't be sure. Because above all that, within the inner space of the furnace, a drooping face looked back at us with sad eyes.

They were still alive.

The orphans hadn't been killed at all.

Somebody had—God, who even knows? What had they been trying to do? Combine machine and man in some horrific manner? The orphaned baby had continued to grow inside the furnace, but whatever it had become had not stopped growing. Its face was several feet wide, and its exposed brain was a half-mossy exposed lump hanging over the side, near the flame.

I did have a pocket knife. I didn't care about the burns. I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed within until those pleading eyes went dim.

Emma tore me away as a grating sound and heavy breathing approached from one of the tunnels, and we ran. Every grate above was locked; we turned, ran, turned again, tried another grate, and kept going. I was furious and terrified and despairing all at the same time. What monsters had done this? And why? We had to go all the way back to our original entrance.

And this time, we crept up silently on the old man and surprised him before he could close his door. Emma held the knife as I demanded an answer.

He sobbed, and tears began to run down his cheeks. "She always wore sunglasses, even inside. She was sensitive to the light. I didn't want to, but we took her money," he admitted, as if finding catharsis for some long held pain. "It took twenty-seven tries, but it worked. We took her money and we used what little she knew of the process to replicate it. We did it. We took her money. The others didn't trust me after she was gone, so they stuck me down here, where the guilt has kept me quiet for over three decades."

But what was he admitting to? I still couldn't wrap my mind around the true extent of the horror. "Twenty-seven tries?"

"Twenty-six kids," he gasped, trying his best not to slice his fragile throat against Emma's knife. "And her."

"But why?" I demanded. "Why would she want this?"

The old man grew quiet then, and his sobbing stopped. Even as tears glinted on his cheeks, he looked me right in the eyes. Softly, he told me, "She just wanted her husband to love her again, but he didn't care about those made of flesh anymore. This was the only way."

Emma withdrew the knife and stepped back to stand next to me. "We're gonna call the cops on this."

He sighed happily. "Please do."

And so we left him there, doing his eternal duty as guardian of the children. We did call the cops, but the school board convinced them to keep the whole thing out of the media. That's why I had to write this myself. The world must know the true nature of Mrs. Afton, the original patron of Afton Community College. She was not a saint. In her desperation to become something her husband could love, she became a monster.

And as far as I can tell, she's still out there somewhere.


	3. C is for Centralia by /u/Dreams-N-Screams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by /u/Dreams-N-Screams.

11/1/2017

Dear Diary, Today has been wonderful, so far. We finally moved to our new home. Samantha was so excited, she ran all through the house laughing and giggling. The moving men arrived maybe ten minutes after we got to our house. We already have most of our furniture and boxes unloaded. I'm so very excited! I can't wait until we have everything unpacked. I just know everything is going to be so much bet- I think I just heard the doorbell...Brb maybe the moving men are back from lunch already.

Diary...that was weird. When I got to the door- no one was there. There was just a small cardboard box with my name, Nicole Harris, on it. And just like that my happy mood is gone and I'm scared... what if it's from Sammy's father, Greg? What if he has found us already? I really hope not. I really don't want to open the box but my therapist told me, time and time again, I can't let fear control my life. After all, that's why I write to you...I'm going to open it. But, I better wait until Samantha goes to sleep. I don't need her seeing something bad and having more night terrors.

11/2/2017

Dear Diary, OMG!!! I opened the box; now I don't know what to do. I had to take two of my Valiums, just so I could write without shaking. It was worse than what I thought it was going to be, so much worse.

I waited until Sammy fell asleep. I got out a box cutter and carefully opened the box. The whole time, I was certain it was something bad from Greg, Sammy's dad. It was not from Greg. Oh God, it was my GoPro … the same GoPro I loaned my sister, Charisma, a few weeks ago. It was scratched pretty badly and I wasn't sure if it was going to work. I had a million questions running through my mind, at that point. Why didn't Charisma bring it to me herself? Did I want to see what was on it, if anything? The only reason I knew it was my GoPro is because I had my initials etched into the bottom (I checked to make sure). I was so scared, but I remembered my therapist; I booted up my Surface, plugged the SD card in my card reader, and clicked on the first video.

The first thing I saw was my sister and I was so confused, until I watched it. It was my sister! It was Charisma and, oh God, I'm scared. I'm heartbroken. Now, I don't know what I saw. It doesn't make sense. It's like something out of a nightmare, Samantha's nightmares, to be exact. It can't be real, can it? If it's real, then Charisma...she's...she's gone… I don't know what to do. If she's dead or missing...who sent me this? Was it her? It's so hard to believe some of the things I heard and witnessed on the videos. Now I don't know what to think. Oh Charisma, I love you so much! Did I tell you that, the last time I saw you?

11/3/2017

I've made up my mind. I'm going to do what I can to help. Maybe, she's still out there. Maybe she's ok. I'm going to write everything down that I see on the tape and I'm going to copy the SD card and send the videos to Isaac, through Dropbox. He’d know what to do (he is Charisma's best friend since Middle School and he has always been into all things horror). Hopefully, he will see it soon and maybe he can find her. I can't leave Samantha alone. I would go and look for Charisma myself, but I know that if something happens to me then Sammy will go to Greg, and that can't happen. I have no choice but hope that Isaac can help her. But, I'm also going to write everything that I saw in the videos, exactly like it happened, in here, so that if anything does happen-maybe someone will know the truth. Then, I'm turning this SD card over to the police. I doubt they will take it seriously, but I know my sister and she has always been truthful. I don't think she would do something like this to scare me. I'll do my best to transcribe what I saw and what happened on the videos.

Video 1:

(it appears to show Charisma in her room, as if making a vlog entry. She is a very pretty girl with light brown-almost blonde hair and green eyes. She has dimples and a cheerful smile)

Hi! I'm Charisma Harris. I am sitting here at my desk, in my dorm room, recording the first part of hopefully what will be a very exciting documentary. Tomorrow, I am heading to Centralia, PA with Jason Collins, my partner and friend in my final Journalism class. I guess I should introduce myself a bit. Even though these notes are for me, you never know if someday I might be famous and this tape could be worth lots of money. Hahahaha (she can be heard giggling and the sound of it breaks my heart, knowing what's to come). Like I said, my name is Charisma Harris; my real first name is Catherine, but man that just sounds so stuck up and formal. I'm a pretty laid back girl. I love writing and I'm pretty nosy, I like to know the whole truth of a story. I think that's why I am becoming a journalist. I want to be the first one to find out the truth of a mystery that no one else can solve.

This is my final paper for my Journalism class. So far I have the highest grade in class, but I want to keep it that way. Jason and I were allowed to choose any place and anything we wanted to write about. I chose Centralia because I love a good mystery. My best friend in High School, Isaac - he'd be so jealous that I was going without him. He always wanted to go. But, he chose Purdue and I chose Penn State. He's too far away from me to come along. Sad.

Jason is a pretty good partner and a great friend. I think he may have a crush on me, but I'm just not worried about boys at this time in my life. I have my whole life to worry about boys and a family. Right now, I want to become the best journalist that I can.

So about Centralia, it is a ghost town. It was once a coal mining town that had thousands of people living there. Today, I think, there's 7 people left. Why the drop in the population, you ask? Well, because back in 1962 a fire got started down in those mining tunnels under Centralia. No one really knows how it got started, but it's still going and its estimated that the fire could burn for another 250 years. Because of this, the area has all sorts of hazardous sinkholes and poisonous levels of carbon monoxide, in the smoke plumes. Did you know that in the 1980s a 12-year-old boy fell in a sinkhole in his backyard and was pulled out by his older cousin? Talk about lucky!

After that, the population started dwindling and by 2009 Governor Ed Rendell of PA had ordered the entire town evacuated and demolished. A few people fought to stay there (they won in court after a long battle), so there's maybe four or five homes left in the whole town-but that's just an estimate. No one ever seems to really know the answer to how many people are really there. I intend to find out.

Oh and one more thing, the town's first Catholic priest, Father Daniel Ignatius McDermott, cursed the land when he was beat up by a gang of Molly Maguires, a secret society of coal miners that wanted fair wages and better working conditions. He said that the only building that would be left standing would be the church. Wouldn’t you know it, he was right! I myself can't wait to go there, it's on my list, I’m so excited!

I have a list of places in town I'd like to explore. The church, the cemetery by the church, the government building, and any houses that may still be left. You’re not prohibited from visiting the town, but it's not really recommended. The south part of Route 61 has been closed and is now called “Graffiti Highway” due to all the graffiti and the impassable state of the roads, so we need to enter the town from the West part of Route 61. That will take us right into the town proper and from there it's easy to navigate. Well, it's 10PM and I think I better get some sleep. We have an early morning coming and I'm not much of a morning person. I know Jason really isn't going to be happy either. Goodnight all.

Video 2:

(Now the GoPro is positioned on the dashboard, facing Charisma and Jason. Jason is a good looking man with dusty blonde hair and faint circles under his chocolate brown eyes. Jason is starting up his car and preparing to head out, on this rainy morning)

C: Hello again! It's Charisma and Jason - say hello Jason!

J: ugghh...hello...I'm not a morning person. Charisma, I'm all in for this trip- but we have got to stop for some coffee.

C: Jason, we will, I promise! You should have gotten up a little earlier, I've already had like 3 cups.

J: What?! And you didn't bring me any?

C: I'm sorry, I really should have. I tell you what, let's stop at Sheetz and I'll buy you some, my treat. Ok.

J: That sounds like a plan.

C: (Charisma faces the camera) Hello again everyone, it's 7AM , October 30th, 2017. It's slightly rainy here and the sun has just come out. Jason needs some coffee and I was so excited, I didn't think to bring any. To recap: we're driving down I-80 to hit the west part of Route 61. It should only be a few hours at most. I'm super excited and Jason is, well, he'll be more excited once he gets some caffeine in him. Once we get to the town, I'll be back with more updates. No need to waste memory for the whole trip. Bye for now! (she reaches over to stop filming)

Video 3:

(Now the camera is mounted on a headband. Charisma is sitting in the passenger seat and looking forward, the car’s hood pulled up)

C: We have a problem, we must have gotten lost. I don't know how because I had my GPS on the whole time…

J: Charisma, there's something going on with the engine, come look!

(Charisma gets up and leaves the car to join Jason, who is looking at the engine with a perplexed expression)

C: Jason, how did that happen? I thought you said you just took your car in for maintenance!

J: I did! But looks like there’s corrosion on the battery, I don't understand it. But the battery is dead and we need to jump it to be able to start the car back up.

C: Jason, we're on an abandoned highway, I don't think there's any chance of anyone coming by for a while. Do you have any cell service? My phone has no reception at all here.

J: No, none. I checked that first.

C: Well, that's just great. Looks like we're walking it then. There are some people in the town, from what I heard. Maybe one of them will help, I hope. Maybe we'll get cell service by the time we get into town.

J: Ok, well grab your backpack and the stuff you need. Guess we're going on a hike.

C: Well, I suppose Jason and I have no choice but to walk to town now. Hopefully, we can find someone who can help us jump the car. I’m not going to let a car breakdown force me to miss out on finding out more about this place. I know one thing, we need to be extra careful walking through this forest. There's still sinkholes and fire. I really don't like this, but we don't have much of a choice. I really should have known something weird was going on when the regular road changed into a rainbow graffiti-colored road.

J: Are you ready? I guess we better get going. At least it's not raining anymore.

C: Good point. I see a bend here, let's go that way. From what I can see up ahead there's a bend and some forest. We should only be a few miles outside of town. If we walk steadily, it should only take us about 45 minutes or less to get into town. This really wasn't how I planned on things going down, but it's ok. I mean, it's just a forest, I doubt there's anything out here that we need to worry about. Maybe deer and I don't think they are going to hurt us.

C: Wait! Jason do you see what this sentence says?

(We are looking down and we see a sentence that says “THEY CAN'T HURT YOU IF YOU'RE LOOKING AT THEM").

J: WOW, that's creepy. I bet there are a lot of strange people that come here. It's probably nothing. Just someone trying to scare people.

C: Yep, you're probably right. I mean, it doesn't even make sense anyways. Right there is where we need to go.

(They are entering the forest and are mostly silent; you mostly hear sounds of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs every once in a while)

C: We are now in the middle of the forest, we have come to the top of what looks like to be a little hill. I still see so many trees, but I think I can see the spire of a church, maybe a few miles ahead. So, we are definitely going the right way. It's very pretty out here. It's fall, so it's a bit nippy but the leaves are so pretty. Everything is orange, gold, red. Just very beautiful. It's hard to believe that no one lives here and even harder to believe that there's a fire burning right… (suddenly the camera swivels around quickly) What was that?! Jason, did you see that? (camera now faces him)

J: What? I didn't see anything, what did you see?

C: I could have sworn I saw something… purple… in the corner of my eye? You really didn't see anything? (Jason raises an eyebrow) Oh come on Jason, don't give me that look.

J: Charisma, don't freak yourself out. I'm sure it was nothing. Maybe a bird or something…

C: A purple bird? No, it wasn't a bird. I know I saw something. But, now that you mention it, I don't hear anything. No birds, no noises. Should it be this quiet in the forest?

J: I really don't know. I'm not much of a hiker. This is the first time I've even been out in the woods since I was a kid. Look, I'm sure it was nothing. You're probably just getting a little tired. We have been walking about a half hour now. I'm sure everything is ok.

C: Yeah you're right. I'm just getting tired. I think I'm going to stop filming for a little while. Just till we get to the town. If I'm right, we should get to the cemetery first, then the town.

Video 4:

(Camera is still mounted on Charisma's head and there's a broken-down black gate and what looks to be a dilapidated cemetery behind it)

C: We have finally made it to the cemetery, I'm pretty sure Jason and I got turned around a couple of times. I think the walk that was only supposed to be 30 mins, or less, ended up being about two hours. It's almost 1pm now.

(Jason makes a sound and the camera swivels to the left)

C: What?

J: Try almost 2:30.

C: How is that possible? How did we lose time like that?

J: I don't know but I can tell you, I have a watch on , its almost 2:30.

(Jason holds his arm up and his watch comes into clear view, sure enough it is 2:26).

C: Your watch has to be wrong. There is no way that it's been three and half hours, that we've been walking around in the woods.

J: I don't know, I've never had problems with my watch, but then again, I've never had trouble with my car or cell phone either. I really think it's this town.

C: Maybe…

(They are quiet for a minute and you can now see the broken-down gate right in front of them).

C: Well, we are here. It's taken longer than I wanted, but at least now we can actually look at a place that I've wanted to check out.

J: Be careful, there's some pieces of the fence sticking out of the ground here.

C: Ok, I see it. Well, while I'm here, let's have a little recap about this cemetery. This is Odd Fellows Cemetery, I can tell because of pictures I've seen online. I thought we were heading to SS Paul and Peter cemetery, but somehow, we got turned around. Which makes no sense because we would have had to cross the road. But, here we are. This cemetery is actually right next to the landfill, the landfill is an important spot because they speculate that that is where the underground fire started in 1962. So, I'm glad we are here, even if I didn't mean to go this way...Hey , where did Jason go? Jason? ...Jason?

(The view changes from left to right, over and over, and you can tell that Charisma is walking faster)

C: Jason? Seriously?! Quit playing around! This isn't funny! Jason! Dammit, Jason!

J: Hey!

(Charisma shrieks)

J: I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! While you were talking I went to get a better look at the one tombstone over there (he points to the left and front of cemetery) and I thought I saw something… well…(he stops talking and just stares at Charisma).

C: What? What did you see?

(Jason mumbles and looks away)

C: What?

J: I think I saw something big and red and possibly...furry...and possibly with a pirate eye patch…

(Charisma busts out laughing. Jason looks at her with a irked expression. She seems to notice this and quiets down, quickly.)

C: You’re serious? You aren't messing with me right now?

J: No, I'm not kidding. Look, I don't know how you're going to give me a hard time, when the whole time we were in the forest, you kept saying you saw something purple!

C: Good point...it's just...well... I have no idea what's going on. First, we end up on a road we weren't traveling on, then the car breaks down, then we have no service. I kept seeing stuff and we got lost in the woods for hours. I just, I really have no damn idea what's going on right now! And honestly, it's starting to freak me out!

(At this point Charisma goes quiet and walks over and sits on a broken stone. Jason walks over to where she is sitting. The camera shifts a bit, so I think he put his arm around her.)

J: Hey, it's ok. I think we are both just tired and a little frustrated. I'm sure I'm just imagining stuff. Didn't you say that there is carbon monoxide in the smoke plumes? Maybe we're just hallucinating a little bit, or something.

C: Yeah, I guess you're right. It's possible. It's just that I don't believe in supernatural stuff and all this weird stuff is happening. In high school, my best friend was crazy about horror stuff. I just never could believe anything like that. I've always believed that there's a rational explanation for everything, ya know.

J: I'm the same way, so yes, I know. Come on, let's get out of here. It's starting to get late and we need to find someone before it's dark.

C: Yeah, you're right. I'm pretty sure I know how to get to the town, well what used to be the town, from here. Online it showed a few houses; hopefully, someone’s home.

J: Ok, let's go.

Video 5:

(We now see a view of what looks to be some paved road in the middle of a big field, with a few trees scattered about. One house is standing on the left side of our view, not too far away)

C: Well, we finally made it into town. I know I saw pictures of this online, but when you're here it's just, wow, it's just so vacant looking. So empty. It's like someone came and paved a road in the middle of the wilderness. There's so much trash everywhere. People's stuff. It's so sad. We still see a little bit of graffiti in places, too. You know, there was a mark of graffiti that said “Don't take your eyes off of them”. Another one, just like the one we saw on Route 61. I don't know, there must be some weird people that come out here. Jason and I are heading to that house up there on the left. There's cars in the driveway, so we are hoping someone is home. Someone has to have a phone or jumper cables, maybe.

J: Hey looks like there's 2 cars in the driveway. I hope these people are friendly.

C: Me too. Let's go knock.

(We see a yellow, two-story house with a chain link fence around it. Two cars sit in the small driveway).

C: Ok , let's knock.

(Jason knocks a few times and waits. There's no sound at all. The camera view moves left to right).

C: Knock again, maybe a little louder?

J: Ok. I wish someone would answer.

(Jason knocks 3 times in a row. No noise, nothing.)

C: Well, I guess no one is here. Damn! Want to walk up to the church over there on the hill? Jason?

(Jason is looking through the glass on the wooden door).

C: Jason???

J: uhh, oh, yeah - let's walk up to the church.

C: Well, I guess I'm going to turn this off one more time. Trying to save memory for the SD card, for when we can actually explore.

Video 6 (Final):

(We see a set of steps going up a small hill. At the top of the hill is a huge white Gothic looking church with a blue spire sitting on top. It looks like it's starting to get dark now).

C: Well, it's dusk now...and if that's not the creepiest looking church I have ever seen...I don't know what is.

J: It is pretty freaky looking, honestly.

C: Still want to go up there?

J: Yeah, I mean it's a church. What's the worst that can happen in a church?

C: You're right. Let's go. They walk up the steps and you know see them pushing open a big wooden door. It's quiet here too.

C: Oh. My. God.

(Charisma's head turns left to right and we can see what appears to be upside-down crosses, 13 on each side of the church walls. She takes a step back-Jason grabs her arm to halt her and suddenly, we hear the sound of a man clearing his throat).

Man: mhhhmmh.. Hello…

(Charisma looks to the left and we see a short, round looking man. He looks like he's a priest, but I noticed he had a black clerical collar instead of a white one.)

C: Hi, um..I'm so sorry. We were, well, we were just leaving.

(The man looks around and gives a light chuckle.) Man: I'm so sorry about this, young lady, seems someone came in and vandalized the church. I was just getting ready to go call the cops. Are you sure there is nothing I can help you with?

C: Well, um..

J: Yes! We need to really use the phone. Do you have a phone we can use?

(The camera turns very quickly towards Jason. I can hear Charisma say something under her breath, but Jason just shakes his head at her. )

Man: Well of course! There's no phone here but we do have a landline next door. Please, follow me.

(The man turns and goes toward the front door and it seems that Charisma is shuffling her feet or slowing down. I'm almost certain she's thinking about making a run for it. I don't think she believes the man's story, and neither did I. But, I know she won't leave Jason behind. Jason, on the other hand, seems eager to follow the man.)

(We go outside and see that we are walking to the right, which would be the left of the building. When she turns around the corner, I see that there is a building, almost right behind the church. It has a billboard on the front that says “Chica’s Party World” on it and what looks be a picture of a pizza and their main mascot.)

J: Chica, huh? Looks more like a duck, don't you think?

C: Seriously? Jason, it's obviously a chicken! You can't tell the difference between a duck and a chicken?!

(Jason shuts up pretty quickly and no one is talking as they walk towards the dark building. It is almost completely dark outside now. Charisma's head turns towards the right and we see, what looks to be in red or black more graffiti it says “They can't get you if you look at them.”)

(We have now reached CPW and we see the “priest” pull out a key ring with lots of old antique looking keys on it.) Man: Here we are now. All we need to do is go in, turn on the lights and I'll take you to the office. You can make your calls from there.

J: Thank you so much, Sir.

Man: No problem at all.

(We walk down a hall and see all sorts of party decorations lining the walls. It looks to be a kids birthday party place.) Man: Here we are. You guys go right on ahead and make the calls. I need to go to the supply closet and get some supplies to clean up some graffiti, that someone sprayed on the back of the church.

J: Ok, great sir. We won't be long.

(the man turns to leave, but Jason suddenly calls out)

J: Oh by the way, I didn’t get your name. I’m Jason and this is Charisma.

Man: Charisma? Such a beautiful name. I’m Father Meisberger. I must get going now; God bless you all.

(The man leaves and as soon as he does Charisma is talking to Jason in a hushed whisper as they enter the office.)

C: What has gotten into you? Do you really believe him? Who is he and what was that about, it was the same sentence we saw on the graffiti highway. I don't like this, why did you tell him we needed to use a phone?

(Jason is facing away reaching for the landline, and replies back in a hushed whisper too.)

J: Look, I'm not sure if the guy is telling the truth, or not. But, we really need to get out of this town and we need to get back to that car. There is no way we can do that without help. I'd rather call the police and get help, instead of asking this guy if he has jumper cables and getting stuck in a vehicle alone with him. Also, I need to tell you something… back at that house I saw blood everywhere inside. I didn't want to freak you out. I'm sorry, I should have said something sooner.

(Charisma starts to reply but Jason cuts her off.)

J: What the hell? There's no dial tone. Nothing.

(As soon as he is done speaking the lights cut off. Charisma had to have turned on the Night Mode on the GoPro because now everything has a green tinge to it and we can see Jason.)

J: This isn't good. We need to get out of here, now.

(We start hearing what sounds like some kind of garbled static. The camera turns towards the sound and we see… well I don't know what it was. It looks like a metal skeleton, with a pink and white face and long white teeth, and it's hanging from the ceiling. Also, it has two heads. Whats even creepier is Samantha has described this thing to me before. She has had nightmares of the same kind of creature, before. All of a sudden, it screeches and lunges at Jason. Blood sprays everywhere and some flecks of it splattered on the screen.)

J: Charisma! Go!

C: No! I can't leave you! (The camera is moving wildly back and forth left to right).

J: Go! Now! Go get help!

(We see Jason is trying to fight this… thing… off but there is so much dark blood everywhere. Charisma takes off running.)

C: Oh my God! Oh my God! What was that?! I should have helped, I don't know what to do! (She is sobbing as she runs. I notice she runs by a doorway and it looks like there is a huge bunny standing there).

(Charisma has run into a hallway and she's at a dead end. There are two doors; she runs to one and jiggles the handle. Pounds on it three times, no luck. She runs to the other door with the same result. The GoPro is shaking wildly. It slides up and down and I realized Charisma had now taken it off. We see her for the first time in a while, tears streaming down her face.)

C: I don't know what has happened here. I don't know who that man was or if Jason's ok. I should have stayed. I couldn't find the doorway out. If something happens to me, Nicole - I love you and Samantha so very much. I'm so sorry. Please, if you see this, tell Isaac he's the best friend ever. Do not come look for me! I know Samantha needs you. Isaac, I'm so glad you didn't come here with me. There's so much I want to say and I know there's not enough time. That thing - it will get me. I know it and I have nowhere else to run. I (she looks left) oh my gosh, I just saw a… a chicken. Was that Chica? I don't know. I have to keep looking… I have to keep…

The video cuts out here and there's nothing else on it. I don't know what to think. I pray that Charisma is ok. What I need to do, is find Isaac


	4. D is for Dropout by /u/Rollerwings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by /u/Rollerwings.

"I don't suppose there's anything I can say or do to make you reconsider this?" I asked that day in August at the close of the first week of school, clutching my student's manila folder against my chest protectively.

"'Fraid not," Tanner Albright said, sprawled in a chair across from my desk. He shook his head, long strands of dark hair swaying before his eyes, and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. His words and gestures were almost apologetic, but also firm enough to convey that he had chosen his course of action and was not about to be dissuaded by any high school guidance counselor.

"Very well." Pivoting in my chair, I turned to the steel filing cabinet behind my desk and wrenched open the bottom drawer that always seemed to stick, then unceremoniously dropped Tanner's school records into the drawer, right behind the divider with its yellowed label. INACTIVE. His was the twenty-sixth folder in the file I'd started since my tenure. For all the successes over two decades that I'd seen through at our tiny high school that graduated seniors in classes of a hundred or so, I'd fought tooth and nail to see the hard cases walk across that stage. I'm talking about the guys who spent some time in "alternative educational facilities," the girls who had preschool-age kids in the audience next to Grandma when Mama walked across the stage. I fought for them all because dammit if I wasn't right there when my dad told my big brother Gabriel he'd never amount to anything, let alone finish school.

"Just so you know," I informed my student, threading my tweed-coated arms through each other in a show of defiance, "this is not a done deal. Should any regrets present themselves, you have the legal right to an education until you turn 21, and this door is always open."

"I'll consider it, sir." Tanner's thin shoulders shrugged again through his threadbare t-shirt, then he was shaking my hand and on his way out. But I wasn't quite done, and I ventured into a-hole territory when I extended a hand for the leather-bound book he'd always carried.

"You're a bright kid, Tanner, and if you're going to take a sabbatical for private research as you claimed, I at least have a right to see what you're working on." Surprisingly, he passed me the book nonchalantly, practically daring me to try and make sense of it, but as my eyes pored over the neat, compact printing within I quickly realized the reason for his arrogance. I wanted to pass off his notes as the work of a madman, but when I came across that name I returned the book to him with trembling hands.

"This is parapsychology, perhaps? Tanner, if you needed a mentor you could have done a lot better than Henry. He was a brilliant man and a graduate of this school, long before my time. 'Gifted but unique' has always been the standard phrase when referring to him; he was kind of a legend in his own time, not that he knew it." I impulsively reached out and clutched Tanner's hand in my own. "Don't go down that path, kiddo. You're tough as nails, but it'll eat you alive regardless. Clyde Miller fed into that machine."

I noticeably jolted when the principal jostled my shoulder.

"Harvey, a word with you?" He had a manila folder of his own. Tanner smirked at me and ducked out of my office.

“Clyde Miller, Class of ‘79.” Mr. Johnson let the folder drop heavily onto his desk. “I’ll never forget the day he showed up in this office, wearing a pair of cheap-ass K-mart jeans and a disco shirt. He begged me to let him drop out of school because he was involved with Henry’s mission, whatever that was.

I tried to resist, and I convinced him he had talents he hadn’t realized yet. So I let him run the school announcements in the gym, even if he was terrible at it. So many ‘uh’s’ and stammering, but wouldn’t you know it, that kid joined the A/V Club and he saw it through. He walked across that stage with the rest of them, even if he never really believed in himself.”

Mr. Johnson, -- Joe, I reminded myself, still feeling awkward addressing someone twenty years my senior with anything less than a deferential Sir -- continued. “I didn’t even know I should have tried to save him at the time. But Clyde Miller had chosen his course and he’s still officially a missing person to this day. I have my own thoughts on the matter.”

I choked back a cough. I’d seen the file myself; Clyde was 32 when he went missing. He’d been depressed and was working a dead-end job, the long line in an adult life of working such jobs. He may have been way beyond high school age, but he was one of Johnson’s special cases.

“He talked about Henry so passionately I at first assumed he was queer for him.” Johnson backed away as my hands curled into fists. “I mean, not that I was judging him for that or anything.”

“Really?” I snarled with a ferocity I didn’t know I had in me. I didn’t want to get into it with him about Gabriel. About Clyde. About Tanner.

...It was a closed-casket funeral a week later, to say the least. I vaguely remember sending out an announcement that grief counseling would be available to the general student body, but nobody really took advantage of the opportunity. I’ll just say that Tanner didn’t have a wide circle of friends and leave it at that. His ex-girlfriend suffered badly, though, God bless her.

Johnson and I stood at the casket. “He knifed himself once, right?” he whispered, and I grabbed his arm out of concern. “The hell did he do to himself that he needs a closed casket?”

Out in the parking lot, I reached out to him. “It was a lot more than that. Y’know Henry needed a closed casket, right? Do you know how he did it? Y’realize we haven’t even found Clyde? There’s a machine out there, some force, and it’s eating our kids alive.”

Johnson reached into the glovebox of his car and lit a cigarette, the forbidden item we weren’t supposed to show to our students to admit we indulged in, lest we admit we were human and had our own frailties. “Dammit, Harvey, twenty-six is too damn many.”

“Damn straight, sir.” I jammed my hands into the pockets of my stupid tweed coat, the one I always wore to impress on my students that I somehow held some position of authority. And then I stared Johnson in the eye and put my entire job on the line.

“Lilibeth needs help right now. She lived through this. I was too young to help Henry and Clyde, I failed Tanner and damned if I won’t save her. I’m doing this for them.”

“And if you’ll excuse me right now, I’mma go home and read my comic book. The one Gabe bought me.” No further context was needed. He didn’t deserve it, but I double-fisted flipped off Johnson right there in the parking lot and stormed out to my hatchback.

The next day I was back at my desk after the weekend funeral. I had a kid in my office trying for a scholarship application. She wasn’t gonna earn it and I could see that a mile away; her GPA was way off from what the college was striving for. I was on the phone anyway, just trying to fight for my kid, y’know, and as I had that landline clutched against my shoulder I saw that… creature, one that I had only ever seen before in my childhood nightmares, shamble across the school lawn, trailing what appeared to be strands and loops of string.

Shrill static erupted from the speaker and I felt a wave of nausea and intense pressure overcome me, and the last thing I remember before passing out was seeing its hollow eyes as it waved its hand slowly, as if to taunt me.

“Harvey, you’re losing it, aren’t you?” Johnson was shaking my shoulders. I don’t remember the rest.

“I don’t know, man. Maybe I really am."


End file.
